'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the houseNot a peripheral was stirring, not even a mouse.The Dropcams were hung by the chimney with care,In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

The Nexuses were charging by the kids' beds,While visions of Angry Birds danced in their heads.And Mama with her Mini, and I my iPhone,Were tapping away by that pale LCD glow.

When out on the lawn there arose such a boom,I sprang from the bed when a flash filled the room.Away to the window I flew like a tweet,And saw an old man shaking his fist in the street.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snowGave an Instagram filter to objects below.When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,But a miniature sleigh, and eight tired reindeer.

The driver was grumbling as my skin it did tingle,And I reached for my iPod to Google "Kris Kringle."But, to my dismay, my device, it was deadAnd throughout the house LEDs all flashed red.

The little old man looked around and with a voice full of tension:"I'm sorry to wake you but I need your attention.I meant not to scare you or cause your kids fearBut I just launched an EMP bomb to shut down your gear."

"Every year I've been coming and dropping off toysAnd hiding from all the good girls and good boysBut these days I fly by and see no Christmas dreams'Cause the kids are all playing games while Netflix it streams."

"And you mums and fathers, with your laptops on lapsAren't sleeping but tweeting, Facebooking, and Chatting With Snaps.You barely have time to look your kids in the eyeLet alone leave me a nice piece of pie."

"So now all your gadgets and gizmos are retiredThey'll be back on by New Year's and I'll home by the fire.And for a few days at least you guys can just chatInstead of Skyping your kids when it's time for a bath."

And the effect was immediate, scary, and stark.We had to look up from our iPads and stare into the darkAnd watch with wonder the soft-falling snowAnd the crisp winter moon and stars that did glow.

And I looked over at Mama and she looked at meIn a way that I remembered from back in '83.She held out her hand and in the window we stoodWhile others woke up in our neighborhood.

The kids weren't distracted with Liking their tweetsAnd they grabbed their galoshes and took to the streets.They made snowmen and angels and sang Christmas cheersAnd patted the eight tiny, impatient reindeer.

And they didn't ask for Mario, Metroid, or MickeyInstead they read books and got themselves stickyEating popcorn and cookies and drinking hot fresh cocoaAnd talking of Christmases long, long ago.

Looking around, old Santa was pleased. He nodded and listened to the sound of the breeze.His beard like silver in the moonlight did shine."It's Christmas!" he yelled. "You should all be offline!"

He put his sleigh into drive, to his team gave a whistle,And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove out of sight,"Turn off your gadgets, and to all a good night!"